American History X
by EvelioandZgroup
Summary: (A Novelette By EvelioandZgroup and Jamie Skyland, Based on the film of the same name) Family is the one word that we shall not destroy, but that hate through the eyes of Darwin Watterson is the now the history assignment that changed the lives of an american family to the neo-Nazi era to the devasting truth of what happened to his brother, Gumball, for the murders.
1. Chapter 1

AMERICAN HISTORY X

By

Darwin Watterson

Re-edited by Gumball Watterson and Edward McKinley

DATE: May 23, 2020

PART 1: Mein Kampf Mistake

I guess we have to start from the beginning—eh, Principal McKinley?

Well, let's begin.

You brought me in—even though I had to sit outside—while I was overhearing with you and Mr. Small—even though you thought you closed the door.

You guys were _discussing _about my paper. It was a good paper, in my opinion. I still don't see what was wrong with it. My teacher, Mr. Small, our beloved world studies teacher, told us that we could pick any person who we look up to that had anything to do with the civil rights movement.

I chose Adam Hitler, the leader for the Nazi political party. I had to read _Mein Kampf_. Reading that book took me about a week to finish it. I gave my all on it and deliver, what I believe to be, an A paper.

Yet again, Mr. Small didn't see the true potential of the paper. He grabbed it, went to my desk, and grabbed me by the arm, where we land at your office, Principal McKinley.

I overhear you guys yelling about me.

"We have boundaries, McKinley, he has crossed it!"

"Is this a personal issue?" Principal McKinley said.

"—" before he could Say anything, he had to go by the door and shut it. Just because you closed it, doesn't mean I can't hear. We all have ears to use—except William, don't know how that fucker can hear—let's use them. God gave us ears for a reason; we hear, bah seethe this sin if not I, then though shall not grant entrance to heaven, our place with the lord (that's my impression of our _so-called _God, I don't care of the bad grammar or the annoying computer error that won't shut the fuck up).

He closes the door and says: "I dated his mother for only three years, but that's it!" Small said it in an angry whisper, as if he didn't want me to hear (too bad Small, I could hear since these walls won't cover up the conversation).

"Sounds like you patronize him as a demon."

"Come on—we have limits in this school!" Mr. Small said. "This just goes too far, McKinley."

"Listen, he learned this from his brother, _and _he can _un_learn it." Small would look around the room, just so he can spot a reason to argue against it. "Have you lost faith in him, Small?"

"No. But, we can't let _this_," Small holding my paper, gripping it in his hands, "pass."

It was the last word he said before leaving your office. I had a little American flag, with the pole in my mouth, I saw Mr. Small coming out, when I knew it was him that ratted me out on my paper.

I said, "I knew it was you." I was tailing him down, while he was walking down to the door at his right, without even looking at me. I just stood there smiling.

Then I heard you yell, without evening pressuring out any air out. You said, "WATTERSON! WATTERSON! TEN! NINE! EIGHT! SEVEN! SIX!" But by then, I was still lost in a trance while Mr. Small had left the main office—or your waiting room for your other deviants that try to disobey the American dream of possessing society with brats that can't spell worth _shit_.

I decided to walk back to the office, even when you were still counting—"FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO!"—and by then I was there.

"WATTERSON!"

"Yeah?"

"Get your ass right here, and shut the damn door!"

I did your bidding as I obeyed your one command for the greater good of society (hell, maybe I could lead a rebellion of stupid high school idiots that can easily be manipulated for such trash that comes on).

I stood there, looking at you, now holding my paper.

"What is this?"

I stood silent.

"_This _is unacceptable." He—you, McKinley—looked at me with those dead-on eyes.

"He told us to pick anyone, and to write an A paper," I said. "And that's what I did."

You looked at me, grabbed the nearby mini trash can—"I should expel you," you said—and threw my paper in there.

It got serious, from then on and now.

You stared at me, I stared back at you.

"From now on, _I_ will be your world studies teacher. We will begin with you writing me a new paper. We'll call this class…American History…X. You will turn in a new paper tomorrow—"

I was shocked.

"Oh, come on, it took me a week to write Mein Kampf," I said, nearly I couldn't believe it. But, by the look on your eyes, those _dead-on eyes_, you were serious.

"What do you want me to write?"

"I want you to write about your brother, Gumball."

I stood quiet. Thinking about Gumball was…—it's not first time though—thinking about someone I lost that was close to me. I pictured it, as if it wasn't enough, my mom would sometimes feel lost without him. I felt we needed him back. _I _needed him back.

"I want you to write about the events, chronicling the lives of you, your mother, your sisters, but especially about you. I want to know how it all impacted you, along with your brother's side of the story.

"It will be your first assignment, and if you don't do it, you'll be expelled."—

(Again with those _dead-on_ eyes)

—and with that, I knew I had to spend one whole night writing about my brother. Can it help? Doubt it. Will it save the world? Fuck the world. It couldn't hurt to try. Will it reunited my family—make us so happily, that we decide to go back out to the beach, and play there like when me and Gumball were younger? Not a possible chance.

Then again, it couldn't hurt to try.


	2. Chapter 2

And AWAY We Go!

I remember the school bell ringing, but all I can say is before the bell, something went down, that you weren't aware of.

I was using the bathroom—using the crapper, if you wanted to know—and then I saw one the teens—that's what _you _want me to call them, don't get any ideas—his name was Leslie Edwards.

I think, very well, you remember Leslie getting picked on by many of our so-called _peers_. Remember when they made fun of him, calling him a faggot and such. Nobody forgot about Leslie like that, but that didn't mean they wouldn't stop. They would torment the hell out of him. Hell, even I remember picking on him, back when I still _had_ hair. Many of them would kick, beat, punch, spit, or even set one of his leaves on fire. You added that on their records, but it never stopped (come on, McKinley, you have two PhDs, and you can't stop a-look-alike tranny?).

I remembered the gang; I think they were called Mad-Men or something. All I remembered it contained Banana Joe, Jamie, William, Anton, Tina, Bobert, and Michael. Banana Joe wasn't—even in his dreams as a goddamn comedian—the ring leader of that. He was just there to be a part of it. Didn't make much sense why they were there.

Michael, however, _is _the ring leader. He thought he was so tough and shit. He was basically a 3-D monkey, wearing a leather jacket with Jordan sneakers—punk doesn't even wear pants or a shirt. Low-life, he was the object of being hated on.

There's some people that follow in his footsteps, but there's a good reason why; 3-FUCKING-D. He is a hardheaded, ignorant, selfish, obnoxious, 3-Dimenisonal punk. I can't stress this enough, he is a bad person.

Michael grabbed Leslie, along with bringing the rest of his so-called crew, and threw him to the bathroom floor. They began to kick and hurt him.

Michael said, "Why the fuck would you be snitching on teacher for?"

Leslie stood on the floor, innocent. I saw him there on the floor. He was helpless, and I was the one taking a deuce, but didn't do anything, yet. He was on the floor saying he didn't say anything to the teacher.

Michael didn't believe him. "Man, I didn't cheat on anything in my life. Man, get his ass." And with that, they hurt him a bit more. Michael then stopped. He may have looked down on him and saw that Leslie had suffered enough already. He was confused many times as a girl or a tranny. It didn't make much sense to prolong this agony for him.

"Yo, man, why you afraid?"

Leslie stood there, looking at him with his mouth bleeding down.

Michael offered him a hand, and Leslie grabbed it.

It was a big mistake; it was a trick.

Michael then kicked Leslie, right where it _really_ hurt. He called him a punk-ass bitch. I was there, in the crapper, smoking a cigarette (I think it was Menthol or something) and exiting from the stalls. I still remember what the stalls said: EAT SHIT, FUK UR BITCHASS, and more. I can tell you this, it was childish. I got out and was just going to leave.

Then he looked at me

(those _dead-on_ eyes)

I couldn't stand him. I made sure I didn't mean any kind of trouble and such, nothing too personal—I know what you're gonna say: "Smoking on school ground is a direct violation of school rules and _will _give you a heat of trouble."—I guess. He then started to be a punk, himself that is. He started to say, "What do you want? Ya punk-ass, flat bitch!"

I just smiled, took in a whiff, and _blew it _all over his face. The smoke that was in my lungs, a part of me, the ultimate symbol of disrespect was shown at him. It meant that I didn't give a damn what he thought of me. _He _was the punk-ass bitch. I had the balls to show him I didn't give a fuck damn what he thought.

After that, the bell rang. He said, "Yo, man, you _lucky_ I got to go to class, man." He left with the rest of them.

I helped out Leslie and told a good piece of advice: "You gotta fucking stand up for yourself."


	3. Chapter 3

Gumball Coming Home

I'd tell you, I still remembered what you said to me—the part I left out of the first one.

You and I were also talking about Gumball coming home. You said that he was just released today. I can't stress this enough, I can't stop and look around to know if he would come at me and see what I did to make him proud.

Let's rephrase what we know about him. He has several tattoos of his hatred towards 3-Ds and has a symbol of his left peck, he's muscled up, and a bald head—but now he grown hair on it.

But I know that maybe life isn't what we always expect it to be. I know that now.

I started writing this after I saw Gumball back home; he had already got himself a good amount of muscle, he was getting his hair back; not like he couldn't grow it back then, he just kept it bald.

If you saw the expression of my mom and sister, it would surprise you. They really did like his haircut. It wasn't a lot of hair, but a fair amount, like if he was one of those Hollywood celebrities.

I didn't get there first though. I was still outside.

Afterschool is _not_ why I wasn't at home. I was outside at the sand, where the beach looked at me. It wasn't close, but it wasn't far either. I like to stay out and think about some things—most of the time I would think about where I was heading in life. Maybe it was a teenage thing, but it didn't feel like that.

No. No, it felt like it was nearing me end of a cycle. Maybe it was crazy at first, but seeing what I was coming home to; it didn't seem like that anymore.

I thought about my girlfriend. You remember Christy, right? Christy Wilson, the 2-D blonde that was a rabbit. Maybe you don't _really_ know her. She isn't like me, at all.

She is a straight A's student, doesn't get into trouble, good friends, good family, and….

Come to think of it, I don't know why she's with _me_.

Hear me out, she's this nice girl that wouldn't go against hating someone, but she's dating a fish that hates 3-Dimesonal people; she _likes_ someone that _hates_; the irony.

Okay, maybe I'm over thinking the point of this paper.

(Breathe in, breathe out)

I was out at the white wall, where many people play basketball, near by the beach. I saw some of the people there; many of them were 3-Ds. Now, I don't like to criticize, but this is such a damn thing what I call the ghetto. I think this is the place.

Want another reason why?

I saw Michael over there. He wasn't playing, but, then again, he can't play worth shit a damn.

He was with some of the people that played there. He gave me a stink eye. I didn't want him to get any satisfaction of any hatred of me. So I just smiled at him. He smiled back, and he went back talking to them.

I stood there thinking, thinking about what led up to this all; I'm talking about the incident that led up to this tragic end of a family.

My family was dead, but I knew there had to be more to it.

There had to be.

But what?

What?

Fuck, someone just fucking tell me already!

I was thinking too much, so I left. When I left, I saw Gumball, getting all of the fame and glory of coming back home from Anais and Nicole (just telling you their real names, in case you had forgotten our last _talk_).

Gumball looked at me with a smile. I smiled back.

He said, "Too big now to give me a hug?"

We hugged. It was almost like one of those family reunions they used to show at school when they tried to demonstrate the importance of family. _Almost_, though. I was excited that he came back, but a little disappointed that he let his hair grow back.

Not a bad haircut, though; just not one for a neo-Nazi.

We stopped and I showed him my tattoo; it was a tattoo of the D.O.C. I know it hurt like hell, but it demonstrated _my_ loyalty to it.

I thought Gumball would be glad to see it, and we may head back down and hold a big celebration for his return. If you could see the amount of people that were inspired by his tremendous act. He was like a god to them. He _could_ have been God.


	4. Chapter 4

That Very Night

Analyze and Interpret

Analyze and Interpret

Analyze and Interpret

Anazlyze and Interpret

Annalaize andfd Innntttrrept

Anal Sex and Intrrrrrrrrrrrept.

When people look at me they think of my brother. Gumball Watterson. Gumball Watterson.

Sometimes it's stuck in my head when people think of that.

All they see in me is that I'm Gumball's brother.

Not much is there to know about how it came to place; the murder of Jerome Tomas, Billy "Killer" Jefferson, and Eddie Vanhouten

This is from my perspective, but I can tell you, for sure, that this is the most accurate version of the story—we won't go that far to the beginning, unless it's right.

The problem started when our fat friend, Ethan, a 2-D boulder, who can barely fit through the door. He is a cat, but shaved. Not like the pink shave, but a good amount for people to think he's bald.

He was at the basketball court, playing some 3-D chumps that were schooling him. 8-9, the score was, and Ethan was dissin' at them. He started to bet up at high states. It didn't seem like a good idea—and it wasn't—but he went over to my brother, with his girlfriend, Davana.

Davana was a girl who basically shaved her back head and only left a good bang at her left side. Not much important, but it's his girlfriend—at the moment I don't know too much about them. I saw her angry at Ethan. She'd be yelling, "Are you fucking retarded, E!" from the top of her lungs. My brother handled her.

Davana is something you don't want to get in bad terms with. She looks like someone who can kick your ass, and she **will**. She is a bit hard headed when it comes to settling things.

One time when the cashier told her that smoking wasn't allowed, she put her cigarette out…on his head, leaving a big, fat black spot. You can probably see him at the corner at the nearest drug store. He works at almost all the min-marts, gas stations, restaurants…basically everywhere. So you'll see it, or you already seen it.

"Dude, what the fuck are you thinking?" Gumball said, mad at him.

"Sorry," Ethan said, "but I can't those fuckers get away with it."

"They're gonna get away it since you made that stupid bet."

"Then play. Come on."

"Now you want me to fix up your goddamn shit? Is that what you're asking me?"

"Yeah, come on! They're fucking ratchet!"

Gumball thought about it, and then he looked at Chris. Chris was the person who introduced him into this—and was the same guy who put the tattoo on me. Chris was a neo-Nazi like us. More like he was the king, to be exact. He was the reason to start this all, but Gumball promoted it enough to reach where it was in three years. Gumball knew Chris very closely. But since prison, things haven't been the same. I still remembered that moment. It was the heat of the moment. He got up, took off his shirt and went in.

He went right up to them and made it simple. He told them that wouldn't be playing for money; instead they would be playing for the court instead. If they won, Gumball and the rest would leave, but if he won, the others would leave. He made it very clear: "No bitching, no crying, you fuckers leave and don't come back."

They thought he was a punk like Ethan, but he wasn't. He was more than that.

I could tell you everything; I could tell you how he embarrassed everyone there and how many shots he made. He showed them how the game is really played. It was absolutely a magical moment for the game.

But those punks gave Gumball the elbow and caused him a bit of a bloody mouth. We all knew he had to call an offense on that. I saw in his eyes was rage, maybe he could have killed them all. He could, and would.

But he didn't. He didn't even bother calling offense and said: "Honey, its game point."

That's what our dad used to say. If the tables were turned, he would say that because he knew that there was something else we overlooked.

Gumball did that. He found something we overlooked.

When they played, it was a highlight in American history. They started to get to them, but just when one of them was going to pass it to one of their teammates, Gumball intercepted it. He got the ball and made it to the other side of the court and gave us (the 2-Ds) the sample dunk on those punks.

We won.

That was it. And that's what it _should've_ been.

That very night, I was asleep, totally unaware of what was going on. While I was asleep, those same people from the game came to our house. They came and started to rob our dad's truck—he gave it to Gumball, and it meant a lot to him.

I heard the glass break, but I also heard the sound of Davana moaning. She was having sex with my brother. I was sure Gumball would hear it. Then again, Davana moans _really loud_ when they do it. So, I guess, I shouldn't be too surprised.

I looked over my window and saw the same guy from the basketball court.

I went over to Gumball's room to tell him what I saw. I tried whispering since he was still giving it to Davana. She was onto of him (it was basically cowgirl position) and moaning _so_ loud. I tried telling him, but eventually Davana saw me and accused me of being a pervert. You can't say I wasn't trying to talk.

Gumball got up and said, "What the fuck, Darwin?"

I said, "There's a 3-D guy stealing your truck, man."

With that, he froze for a second and sexy time was over. He went over to his drawer and pulled up his boxers: "How many are out there, Darwin?"

"One, I think."

"How long has he been out there?" I didn't know the answer to it. "He is strapped?"

"What?"

"Does he have a gun!?"

"Man, I don't fucking know."

He pulled out his gun from the drawer and loaded it. Even that made Davana say "What the fuck!?" Gumball ran downstairs and stopped at the door. He looked out the windows and saw a guy in the front porch, two by the truck, and another inside a car already, waiting. All were 3-D people.

Gumball looked at me and started to mouth his lips. He was saying—but wasn't saying anything—"One…Two…THREE!" Gumball jumped out and shot fired at the guy in front porch. He bled through his neck when he shot him through his neck. He scratched his neck when he hit the post.

Gumball shot again to the guy by the car. Shot him by the window, left a big shatter window, bleeding, and one started to run, but he shot him as well. The guy who was in the car, parked outside, on the other side of the street, started to drive away. Gumball shot at him many times, even inside the car. I don't know if he survived or died, but he got away.

I ran outside and saw the guy dead by the front step, dead as he can be. I also saw one that was still alive, but barely. I also saw the guy by the truck dead. He bled all over the door of it. Then I saw Gumball; he turned over to the guy that was still alive.

He walked very fast and got to him. He said, "You should have left everything at the game!" and then he slammed him to the ground.

I knew he had wasted the gun ammo with the guy in the car, but that didn't mean _he _didn't know that. He thought the gun was still loaded with bullets.

Gumball grabbed his jacket and dragged him to the curve of the sidewalk and said, "You fucked with the wrong bull!"

I swear I could hear the guy begging for mercy. Gumball pointed the gun to his head and yelled at him: "Open your fucking mouth!"

"Please!"

"OPEN YOUR FUCKING MOUTH AND PUT IT TO THE CURVE!" I swear—believe me—I never heard Gumball yell like that.

The guy did as he told him. At that moment I knew what Gumball was going to do. I tried to stop him. I yelled his name and told him to stop. Even the guy yelled for him stop. But Gumball said something…

"Now, say goodnight!"

Gumball went back and kicked his head right into the curve. I heard it snap. When I saw he did that, I was shocked and scared.

I was too late when it happened, maybe when it started. My heart started to beat faster, but time seemed to slow down. I fell to the floor of my own front yard. I heard police sirens, and soon enough the police came.

I had never heard someone snap like that, or when someone died, right in front of me, and I didn't do anything. For the first time, in my life, I felt bad for this.

Gumball saw the police, and walked to them, with the gun. They came out of their cars and told Gumball to drop his weapon. He did it with no problem, at all. They then told him to put his hands in the air. Later they told him to turn around. That's when time slowed down.

I saw Gumball looking at me. He looked at me, smiling. I looked at him, with my mouth open, shocked. I didn't know what was going on. Soon he was then putting them to his head and went down on his knees.

A police officer went to me, but one went to Gumball. When they grabbed his hands to handcuff them, he grew angry eyes to me. I was still with that same face…face. He looked at me with burning fury. The angels cried for me, knowing that I would soon be sent to hell. Hell wouldn't allow me to come in. I would be left to wonder in the afterlife as a ghost, knowing what I _didn't_ do. He then pulled me back, when I had turned angry at Gumball. They held me back, but he stayed with his eyes.

(_Gumball had those _**dead-on**_ eyes_)

They picked him up and sent him away.

They gave him three years since the jury found him guilty in the heat of the moment, so he didn't have primary control. It would have been life if I had testified.


	5. Chapter 5

PART 2: The Truth about 2-D Supremacy

It was all a lie

I can't tell you how stupid I feel now. Everything that has been told, everything I was involved in, it was all a lie. LIE, Lie, Lie, Lie, Lie, and goddamn lies.

We picked up Gumball—before I ran into this writing assignment—at the prison. He didn't talk the whole ride. I asked if he wouldn't mind giving me a lift so we could catch up a little, but he said no and that we would hang out after school.

When I got back—the warm embrace and the tattoo disagreement—I ended up learning soon that Ethan would be coming over. And why wouldn't he? He's one of Gumball friends.

He knocked on the door, with a video camera, and my sister opened the door. When she saw it was Ethan, she immediately tried to close the door and keep him out. But, with the amount of weight he is at—I think probably 560 pounds or something—he got in.

"I came to see the man," Ethan said, focusing on the camera.

Anais said, "Are you sure you can even _fit_ through the door?"

"Fuck you! Hey, Gumball! Where are you, you free motherfucker!?"

Where was he? He was in my room/his, on the phone, talking to someone.

"I'll be out in a minute!"

"Come on, man!"

"I _said_ 'I'll be out in a minute', Ethan!"

Ethan was upset—more or like pissed off to be exact. He sat at the chair and was still recording. He saw Anais, but eventually zoomed in to see if he can get in a good shot, but she say what he was doing, so she crossed her legs and covered up.

He just snickered since he still got something on tape.

She said, "When was the last time you were able to see your feet?"

He gave her the finger.

I saw clearly the knuckles. He had writing on it, but they were out of range, since you have to write the letters on a good line to read the word. He then told me to come over. He recorded me, even when he came in I put my mouth to the camera lens.

"Now, tell me, what do you know?"

"I know that I can nail your mom before your fat-ass is done ordering a triple whopper."

Anais smiled and laughed at it. He told her to shut up.

"What do you know?"

"I know that we hate the 3-D because it's stupid when they come to your house and give your mom a goo' old fuck."

"Fuck you; for real!"

I thought about it.

"I hate those propaganda posters that try to make us seem that we're equal, when we're not."

"Good."

"And I even hate the fact that nowadays it's cool to be 3-D when back then it was a disgrace. So what? Just because we freed them we're suppose to think they're like us? Hell fucking, no!"

"Good."

"I even hate those white-trash retards of the 222's that can't get real satisfaction of being like us. We're the real ones doing what we should be doing; making those fuckers regret their ancestors brought them here; freedom isn't free when you keep taking advantage of it. It's been what, 200 years since we freed those bastards? They still _are_ the bottom of society. Now, what?

"Did I mention the fact that politics don't give a fucking shit about the true idea of society? Those _people _are just the pest of a perfect society that the world gave us, but decided to let these pieces of shit come into our country and populate our beautiful gift from God, himself."

I think Anais had enough: "I feel sorry for you, Darwin."

"Let the kid talk, he's smart, unlike you."

"How about you get the fuck out of our house, you fuck."

He laughed: "Is that any way to treat a guest, a friend?"

"Gumball hates you!"

"Whoa! Whoa! Who told you I hate anyone?"

Gumball came out, smiling. Ethan came and hugged him. Gumball almost tried to hug him, but he could _barely_ get his arms _around him_.

"Hey, did you lose weight? I can almost put my arms around you."

"50 pounds man, 50 pounds."

Gumball went over to talk to me. "Hey, did you turn in a paper about _Mein Kampf_?"

"Oh, yeah! You should see man, Small nearly shit his pants when he saw it." I said.

"You should see man, the kid's smart."

"Who put you up to it? Was it Chris?"

"No, man—I thought you would like it."

"Well, I don't. In fact, you got into a lot of shit because of that."

"Wait," I said. "Did McKinley told you?"

"Yes, he did, and—"

"—That fucking rat! He should mind his own damn business!"

"Look—I can talk to you in private?"

I went with him, along with mom and Anais. Ethan was forced to sit out. He enjoyed himself with our jellybeans. I took a glance at him, but I saw him only took a jellybean out—it was a 3-D one. All I can say is that he probably gobbled the rest of it down through his throat.

Gumball talked to us and said that Ethan was bad news already. I was kind of shocked. No offense, but…actually, I don't know how I can offend you this way. Ethan is a slob. But he was a part of the group and that's what made me tolerate him. He also told me to stay away from the party.

What Gumball is talking about is the annual neo-Nazi party. It's when we all just bash into history greatest moment of Nazis and rock out with beer. We don't use weed or others since Gumball believed—along with others—was that it was foreigners' drugs.

I didn't care, but he was very serious about it.

"I mean it. Don't go anywhere that party, you understand?"

"Fuck, man! I'm not 10 anymore!" I left to my room, while Gumball head out, with Ethan, and they left. I went in to write—which I did, mainly about the incident. I wrote the first draft while at the library if you needed that kind of information.

Then, my little sister came in, Tabitha. I looked at her; she was supposed to be sleeping. I just smiled at her.

"Hey, why aren't you in bed? Do you want an airplane ride?"

She shook her head and I said, "Here we go!" I grabbed her by the legs and chest, and she just went into the formation of an airplane. I spin her around and doing whooshing sounds. Then I brought her over to mom, she was at the couch, leaving, with a cigarette in her hand.

I brought Tabitha down and told her to give a kiss mommy. She did and I put her down. She went back to bed. I strayed for a while and took mom's cigarette—while I took in a whiff—and put it out.

She looked at me and said, "When are you gonna let that beautiful hair grow back in?"

"When you quit smoking."

I gave her a hug and went back to writing the paper.

I did a lot, but soon my friends knocked on the door. They started yelling and acting crazy. They were here to pick me up, and head off to the party.

I know Gumball told me not to go, but…hey, we all disobeyed someone in the past. So I went.

Where we went is the hangout of where all the parties are at; it was at the abandon warehouse, but Chris bought it, long ago, but has a good office with it.

At that moment, we stayed and partied.


	6. Chapter 6

From _The 2-D Truth; The Life of Gumball Watterson,_

A memoir by Gumball T. Watterson (pg. 89)

A Store Ambush

Back in the day, I was filled with rage. When I was with Chris, he talked to me with the other flat-heads; the frustrated ones. He informed me about the supermarket—Fresh-and-Go!—and I told him I'd handle it.

I went by the other flat-heads and spotted them laughing and giggling. I didn't find anything fun back then, even when one of them was smoking weed. I grabbed it and told him it was niggers' shit.

I gave a speech there: "I'd tell ya! I thought this here was America. Now look where we are. We have countries laughing at our border portal."

One of them was laughing. "Shut the fuck up! This isn't funny; it's humiliating! We got fucking people coming from different places here since they couldn't handle life where they used to live at.

"So what? This is our land! Many Europeans came here and claimed it theirs. But now look at us! We're a laughing stock! We got the Fresh-and-Go! that was run by Sam, but now we got a fucking 3-D piece of shit running that damn store.

"And guess what? He's making a killing by hiring over 50 fucking border-jumpers.

"The government doesn't give a shit about us. They spend tax dollars over convicted felonies, but decide to let the foreigners come in since they weren't worth the money. Well, guess what? I'm sick of it! I'm sick of the fact that other countries are laughing at us because of this bullshit.

"We need to establish justice, because the damn government is gonna do shit about it. That's the truth. What should we do? I know what we should do, we should fucking stampede in there and show those fuckers where they don't belong. Who's with me!?"

They all screamed and cheered me on. They were moved by that speech, and so was I. We ran to that store, put on our mask, got Ethan to record with his camera, and we got weapons. Not strong weapons like guns, but enough to mark our territory. We got crowbars, but it still had enough damage to make them suffer.

We ran in there and caused mayhem.

I won't lie; we did a lot of bad things; only I'm able to admit it was bad. We did bad things.

We ran into the store, started yelling from the top of our lungs. We wrecked that store. I went to the store owner and pushed him down. We brought him back to his office and took him there and dumped everything on him. Everything. We threw all of his paper, hell, even the desk and table. I saw some of the others grabbing a 3-D cashier with a hammer; they used it to smash her hand to make it 2-D. They said, "You look perfect now, flat." Soon they started to hit some of the customers there in the head with the crowbar, while Ethan recorded it.

One of the employees had a bat and was waiting to take one of us down, but instead one of us knew better. They used the crowbar and when he came out, they hit him in the head with it.

Soon we destroyed everything in the store. I grabbed the nearest cashier and yelled out, "WELCOME TO AMERICA!" and threw it to the window. We ran out and left, like it was nothing. Now I know the truth, it wasn't.

Back at home, the reports started to spread through my family.


	7. Chapter 7

A Family Dinner

My mom was dating Steven Small after my father died.

They were talking the crime that occurred in the neighborhood, and they are calling it they're-just-fighting-against-each-other bullshit.

I stood up and said, "That's just a typical cop-out talk. You just assume that people would think it's an open and close case when you think 'we' had something do with it."

"Gumball, people are hurting each other," Small said, "but that doesn't mean we got to pick 'Who to Blame?' here. We just need to examine this thing out."

"Yeah, the same with that fucking idiot, Rodney Michaels?"

Rodney Michaels was a 3-D person, back in Bermin Vince Beach. He was falsely accused of attacking cops when they brought up topics like the book of _To Kill a Mocking Bird_, they decided to free him. Six days later, he overdosed himself with crack.

"Rodney King wasn't a menace to society—"

"—he was a fucking idiot that was founded by the jury to be a nut case and decided not to do any real justice."

"But we accuse people of other races, doesn't that show something?"

"In fact, no, it doesn't."

"Why?"

"Easy! The government has been fucking with our heads to be these social, blindfolded, numb idiots, who can't think and ask a question. Just with the 3-Ds they think they're tough shit because we freed them, like what? 200 years ago? How long does it take to get your act together?"

"Well traditional cartoons have been prosecuted for 5,000 years."

"Look, our country made a fucking mistake by bringing those fuckers on a boat and bringing them here to smoke goddamn tobacco!"

"May I be excuse?" Anais said, obviously not wanting to be a part of the conversation.

"No. Sit your fucking ass down and listen."

"Gumball, please," Nicole said, strained from all this talk.

"I'm with you, baby," Davana said, "I'm tired of all these fucking hypocrites, thinking we should all be equally. That's fucking pussy shit!"

"Oh! And you're one talk." Anais said.

"I mean look at the police for chrissakes, its nonsense."

Anais began to get up, "You don't even know what you're talking about."

"Hey! Sit down, listen to my girlfriend talk, and show her some respect!"

She didn't listen and started to get up and tried to leave.

"Hey, Anais! Sit back down!"

"Let me go!"

"No!"

She started to get around me, but I wouldn't let her. Soon enough, I grabbed her ear and told her she needed to learn manners. My family started to get scared and tried to get me to stop. I grabbed her food—it was a rare, red steak—and I shoved it down her throat. She started to cough; she started to choke and couldn't breathe. My brother, Darwin—who had his head shaved as well—tried to stop me, but I pushed him to the floor. I ended up throwing my sister to the floor.

Anais started to breathe again, but left the kitchen table.

I looked at Small and took off my shirt. I had a tank top, but I had symbols that showed I was against him, no matter what. I smiled at him for it.

"Gumball…what are you doing? This is your family."

"That's right! _My_ family! And as long as I'm a part of this family, you're not a part of it! 'Cause I got news for you Small! I don't give two shits about you! And whatever plans you had about trying to fuck my mom, it ain't gonna happen! Now, get the fuck out of here, you fucking kyke!"

He looked down at me. He started to walk about the door, but took a final glance at me.

I pulled from my tank top my symbol and said, "That means 'Not Welcome'!"

He left.

My mom started talking to me on what was I thinking.

"Me!? I can't believe you brought that fucker into our home. I can't even believe you went from dad to _this_! Have you no shame?!"

She screamed and cried, "I'm ashamed that you came out of my body!"

She ran out the door.

I screamed out, "Go run to your fucking kyke!"

I looked around, but it didn't really help. I even saw Darwin at the table after I threw him down like he was nothing. He was my brother. I asked how he was feeling and he said he was okay. That was good; it was good to hear. He then looked scared and I didn't know why…until I turned around and saw why.

Anais ran up to me with a baseball bat and said, "Take this you fucker!"

I grabbed the bat and stopped her. I tried to calm her down, but eventually she cooled a little. I apologized to them by saying I was just mad and I wouldn't do anything to hurt them, ever.

"I don't believe you," Anais said.

"I trust you, Gumball," Darwin said.

Soon enough, mom came in, and we would just look at each.

I guess I should explain a little bit about my dad and anger, right?

Now, when I was 12, I wouldn't believe it when someone told me that my dad was a fireman. But something snapped with Richard, my father. Since he caused destruction, he was able to maintain it when his job was to stop it; he was a firefighter, so it was easier.

Many people would say—even me—that the start of my problems was when my dad was murdered. But, come to think of it, it wasn't. It started _before_ it.

It all started a couple of weeks before he died.

We were at the dinner table, enjoying a nice family dinner.

My dad starts talking, more like an adult since the job has made him more mature. We were talking about the big game I was having. I wasn't worried, but scared with a writing exam. I was doing an essay on the story, "Native Boy."

My mom made a crack when she said that they don't teach students the war writer Tom Blancy.

He looked a bit disappointed now.

He told me it was everything he saw now, this whole "3-D exploitation" and all. He said that I should pass the class with the teacher, but I shouldn't take in every bit of information he's feeding me. He said it was bullshit, but then clarified: "Its nigger bullshit."

I had hair back then, but when my dad died, two weeks later, it was gone.

I even was interviewed on public television about it.

They asked me, "How do you feel?"

I replied, "How do you _think_ I feel? It's typical."

"How is it typical?"

"Well…look at our country for chrissake. It's a melting pot of criminals. 3-Ds. And…well, there are those morphers, hybrids, and other shitheads…whatever."

"So you're saying the shooting of your father is 'race' related?"

"Every problem in this country is 'race' related. It's either the 3-Ds, morphers, hybrids…every non-Protestant group in society. I mean look at the immigration problem…AIDS…it's the entire non-2-Ds fault."

And with that, my hate took off. I met Chris later on, but where it all really changed me was in prison. Then again, who hasn't been changed there?


	8. Chapter 8

Reality in Prison

When I went to prison, I was on my own.

I looked around and saw nearly everyone to be 3-D. We walked and marched.

At our little "playtime" we did what we could. All I could do is send a signal and hope someone answered.

I took off my shirt, showed my symbol, worked out to show that I was in good use.

By lunch, I was with the Nazis, just as I hoped.

For my workplace I had to work with a 3-D guy, Marcus. He told me he was the dangerous man in the prison…because he controlled the underwear.

Marcus was a guy, who tried to make conversation, but informed me on what I was doing and where was I.

I was at the laundry room, had to separate the underwear from medium and large, stack them, tied them, organize them, and put them in bags and such.

I didn't do much talking there. While I was there, I knew here I had to be sharp and alert.

That was until I realized something: it was all bullshit.

I saw the guy in charge of the gang making deals with a border-jumper. I asked one of the guys why he's doing that.

He said that it was to maintain business. I told them that this is what we're against, them. He said it was to protect each other.

I was pissed off by that.

I started to stop getting near them. I eventually started to pay a bit more attention Marcus when he made a crack about the 222s. He put on a bed sheet and said, in a mocking voice, "I'm gonna hate some niggers! I don't know what that is, but I'm gonna hate them, because I'm a retarded redneck who got nothing better to do but be so damn stupid!"

I'll admit, it was funny; funny because it was sort of true.

I didn't talk, but he then made another crack at relationships with bitches. He said that they don't care when you piss them off, but they really want a good fuck from them. He would be saying, "I-I-I-F forgive you, I forgive, I for-I for-I forgive you-I-I-I-I-I-I-FOR-I FORGIVE YOU- I FORGIVE YOU- I love you!"

We laughed at that. It was fucking funny.

We started to talk about basketball and we argued about that stuff. It's weird since we were nothing different. We communicated like regular people.

"Look, the Lakers are better at the game; they're a dynasty of professionals."

"Oh, yeah, they're a dynasty, all right; a dynasty of the ugliest motherfuckers you ever seen!"

We laughed and laughed at it.

Soon I asked him about how he got in. What he told me was something else.

"You'll laugh, man."

"Come on. Just say it."

"Alright…I stole a TV."

"Alright, you stole a TV. What's so embarrassing about that?"

"I stole a TV, _right next to a donut shop_, and bumped into _two cops_. I got 6 years for that."

I couldn't help myself. I laughed.

"See! You laughed!"

But I thought of something. It didn't make sense.

"Wait, wait…that don't make sense. You don't get six years for stealing a TV. You gotta be joking. Come on, man. Tell me the truth."

He just looked at me.

(those _dead-on_ eyes)

"Like I said, I ran into them, cop grabbed my arm, the TV _fell_ on his leg, I was charged with assault; 6 years."

"Come on, man. The jury couldn't honestly believe that."

"I'm 3-D! That's what made it _easier_ to believe I could've assaulted him."

I couldn't believe it. Even I would believe it if I never met him. This isn't fair. He was unlawfully justified.

I was already in here for a year and a couple of months, and so far I neglected the neo-Nazis there; I wouldn't sit next to them at the lunch table in mess hall, didn't hang out with them in the courtyard, didn't bother to acknowledge them, and I didn't even want to look at them.

They did plan something for me, though.

When I was in the showers, I stayed a little awhile longer. I cleaned myself with that lonely soap that was probably infected already. Nonetheless, I didn't care.

When I was washing up, a towel went over my neck. I gasped for air, but two guys grabbed my legs and arms. I looked behind me, but only a short glance, and there was the big man there. He put his dick in my ass and had his way with me. I tried screaming for help. I even saw a security guard, but he didn't do anything. I screamed for help, but it hurt like hell.

He was done and whispered into my ear, "Thanks for the time, baby."

I screamed, "FUCK YOU!"

And with that, they slammed my skull to the wall. I swear it cracked. I was knocked out and fell on the floor.

They went away, but I was left bleeding through my head—and my ass. The water was still running, and the blood flowed through the little hole that they put the water in. I wished I was the water so I could just leave this place already.

I wounded up in the infirmary and learned I had six stitches. I had two on my head, and I learned the rest was where it hurt the most.

One person came to check up at me. It was Edward McKinley, my old teacher, who is probably the principal by now since he's good.

He sat by me, but didn't talk.

I just looked down and started to cry. I realized that I was in this bad place and had nothing. _I _was absolutely nothing. I had no life and nothing good. I was worthless.

After awhile, I calmed a little down and McKinley and I started to talk; it was nothing big, until he brought up something that was personal.

"I came to talk to you about Darwin…he's heading in your footsteps."

"Come on, man. Darwin's not my responsibility. I don't have anything to do with him."

"I think you have _everything_ to do with him."

"So what can I do, huh? I'm in here and he's out there. What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to use everything in your power to stop this. If you lead him down this road, you will be too blamed for everything, blamed for his hate, his crimes, and his death."

I looked at him with my eyes tearing up: "Just…just help me. Help me get out of here. Out of this place…away from all this…I don't want this anymore…please…help me…I want to get out of here."

He said he would help me.

At mess hall, I got my lunch, but was still recovering from that incident.

I saw the neo-Nazis. They were presenting a chair for, but gave a creepy smile like they own me now and I'm their bitch now. I walked passed them and went to an empty table. I had difficulty in sitting down, but they laughed since they knew I still felt it. I eventually sat down, but I heard them saying, "Fuck him…fuck him, let the niggers have him."

Later I was back in the laundry room with Marcus, but he was mad at me.

"Yo, man, what's all that _bull_shit you pulled up at mess hall?"

I just tried to work since I didn't want talk about it—at least not right now.

"G! I'm talking to you!" He yelled at me.

I finally spoke: "Look," I said, "I'm not afraid of those pussies. In case you forgotten I was jumped by six of them. I'm not gonna let that happen. I hope they fucking try."

"I'm not talking about them! They are protecting your sorry ass against the brothers! You dissed them at public! Now, you're on your own!"

"You don't think I haven't thought about that? Look, if they're gonna come for me, then they're gonna come for me, and there's nothing I can do."

After the talk, I was right back where I started. I knew one of them were gonna pick on me since they were itching for it. I just hoped it was quick, even when I was at the courtyard working out and a saw a group of 3-Ds coming my way. I didn't even think about running away since it was coming for me. I walked and they just walked past me. That day for them to kill me…it never came.

I started to read some books that McKinley gave me. I started to feel a bit more at ease, but for the last months in that place I was a ghost.

When I was released I saw my friend Marcus working at the entrance, picking up some of the leaves and trash convicts leave.

He said, "You're getting out today?"

I nodded.

"Well," he said, giving me a look, "what you waiting on? Get your peckerwood ass on out of here."

"You know, I think the only reason I'm getting out of here in one place is because of you."

He laughed, "You think I would put my neck out on the line for some peckerwood like _you_?"

I laughed a bit, "Yeah, its stupid." We didn't bother saying anything to regret it. "That's what I thought." I gave out my fist and we fist bumped. It was a sign of friendship. "I owe you man."

"Man, you don't owe me _shit_!"

I left walking out, yelling out, "You'll be out in no time."

"Don't worry about me! Worry about the brothers, a'ight!"

I left and felt the warm rejoice of my family. I knew that I was home.


	9. Chapter 9

Part 3: The Way Back To A Normal Life

Gumball's Redemption

_The 2-D Truth; The Life of Gumball Watterson,_

A memoir by Gumball T. Watterson (pg. 128)

After I left my family with Ethan I told him to go get something to eat and I'll catch up with him at the party.

I went for a walk. It took me hours to stop, but I eventually decided to walk to the party. I actually didn't even want to go to the party, but I guess I didn't want any loose ends to go unresolved.

It was dark and I headed to the abandon warehouse, which Chris basically made the outside of the rooms his summer bash party.

I saw a lot of flatheads, but they weren't the real thing though. What surprised me more was the fact when someone recognized me, they worshiped me like I was a god to them—I guess I _was _their God. But, through the crowds, I spotted Davana. She called me out at the rooftop.

I ran up the stairs while she came down. She jumped to me when we met on the stairs. I was carrying her while she wrapped her arms—and _legs_—on me. She was happy to see me out of prison, but I can't believe she waited for me.

We went to the back of the warehouse and made out (that still brings the horny teenager in me). I ended up talking to her that she should run away with me and leave this…_Nazi bullshit_.

All she did was laugh, thinking I was joking and began to continue, but I stopped her.

"No, I'm seriously."

"…what?"

"Come on! Come with me and leave this all, this…nonsense."

"You're nuts!"

"Look, I'm serious. And…you know what? Forget it. It's a stupid idea."

"What are you saying?"

"Davana just say goodbye and leave it like that."

I left and she was mad. I know for a fact if you get on her bad side, you'll never leave until you pay for what you did. And that's a dead fact. She looked at me with those _dead-on_ eyes.

After that, I went over to Chris's office. It's located under the stairwell.

When I went there, there was this blonde 2-D girl saying, "Are you Darwin's brother? If you are, tell him Christy is looking for him." I didn't even know her after what happened.

I ended up seeing Chris, alone in his chair, drinking a good old beer. It had the confederate flag on it.

"Gumball, my boy, I'm surprised to see you out! How are you? Is the family good? Do the others know you're out there? How's it been? Do tell me what's happening?"

"Okay."

"So, how's prison? Who was running the place? The 2-Ds, morphers, hybrids, or—?"

"The 2-Ds. And there's I want to tell you."

He analyzed my face and looked at me: "Don't say anything bad if you know what's good for you, Watterson. You know what we've been through—?"

"Yeah…and I'm done with it."

"Ha! That's funny!"

"No, I'm serious! I lost three years of my life because of your _bull_shit cause. I know everything that happened back at the high school, along with those three kids that you left take the fall for you stupid shit!"

"Hey, you can protest me all you want, but fuck you! Besides, I got Darwin on my side."

"If you ever get near my family again I'll fucking kill you—scratch that, I will feed you your heart, you old fuck!"

"I won't have to," he said, before I was gonna leave. "He'll come to me. I'm more family than you have ever been in the past three—"

I punched him in the fucking jaw and he fell down to the floor. I knew I made a mistake, and was about to make a run for it until he said, "You're a dead man, Watterson."

I kicked him in the mouth and ran.


	10. Chapter 10

The Way Back Home

At the party, I started to rock hard. I drank some beers from the keg, but it was really something with a band playing. I have no fucking idea who they were, but that didn't stop us.

We were party till the night was gone.

Then I saw something I didn't think to see; I saw Gumball running from something. He left Chris's office in a hurry. I saw Ethan saying, "Where's Chris?" but he didn't answer back.

I heard him calling me out, yelling my name. I ended up hearing Davana saying, "Why don't you tell everyone you told me, you nigger-lover!"

I eventually ran, but Ethan came out with a gun and faced it to Gumball. Ethan said that Chris was knocked out. They knew he had hurt Chris—at the time I hated him for it, but now I don't. They held the gun to his head and I called out for them to stop, but Gumball maneuvered the gun and had it now. He twisted Ethan's hand and got the gun. He threatened to shoot people, but instead ran off, still pointing the gun to people.

I eventually caught up to him and demanded an explanation. That wasn't the Gumball I knew three years ago, but eventually he cooled me down.

We walked home and sat out on the porch. He explained to me everything about what happened in prison. I was devastated. Not just on him, but for what I was standing for. I had no idea what I got myself into.

We headed back inside and saw everyone sleeping on the couches, waiting for us. We woke them up and told them to sleep in their rooms, and, if they wanted, they could sleep in our room. They said it was alright, but mom slept on the couch while Anais and Tabitha went to sleep in their room.

I was in my room, staring at everything I had on my—our—wall, posters of the Nazis and propaganda posters of the man that caused our family to split.

We took them all down. It was a big step for us all.

It's now 5:40 and I'm about to watch the sunrise. I don't think I've ever done that before. Anyway, we're gonna start over and see what happens t us. It doesn't matter, though, because we're together and we'll make it. I don't know if this paper is what you wanted, but for what it's worth…thanks.


	11. Chapter 11

ELMORE SCHOOL SHOOTING: DATE: MAY 24, 2020

We are here in the scene of Elmore High School; a shooting was reported in the morning at 8: 28 a.m.

Q: I'm here with Christy Wilson; what is your opinion?

A: I can't stand it (sobbing)

Q: Would you like a tissue?

A: I just want him back!

Michael Wilson has been reported as the murder of the 17 year old teen, Darwin Watterson. The suspected was soon sent to jail, but many have yet to know any more whereabouts.

His older brother, Gumball Watterson, ran to the school and wallowed in pain about the death of his brother.

There have been reports that it was connected to the beatings of Chris Vinyard and Ethan Thomas. Both were found near the Ben's Burgers stand where they were jumped by a 3-D gang.

They were associated with the D.O.C. (it is solely to be believed to stand as "Disciples of Christ").

We stand here today for the loss of teen for hate that has never stopped. That is the reason for his death.

From _The 2-D Truth; The Life of Gumball Watterson,_

A memoir by Gumball T. Watterson (pg. 241)

I had to see it to believe it. When I heard a gunshot fired outside of the school, I ran back to the school, but by the time I saw anything, I saw a crowd, surrounding the boys' bathroom.

I saw them escorting a handcuffed kid by the name of Michael Hopkins. He was a 3-D kid, but I ran to the bathroom. I was stopped by McKinley, but when he tried to stop me, I already knew the truth. Eventually he led me through, but I saw was more terrifying.

Darwin was there; he was shot three times and had fallen to the urinal. It was all bloody, bleeding all through the wall. The color was white—well, _was_. I ran to him and yelled. I cried and asked God what I have done. I cried, while I helped him in my arms. I wished I knew what happened.

They told me there was an issue between Michael and Darwin and had led to him ambushing him at the bathroom.

His paper, "American History X," was rolled in, but filled with Darwin's blood.

I couldn't bear to go on like this.


	12. Epilogue

Epilogue

So I guess this is where I tell you what I learned; my conclusion, right?

Well, my conclusion is this: hate is baggage. Life's too short to be piss of all the time. It's just not worth it.

Gumball says it's good to end a paper with a quote. He's says someone else has said it best and you can't top it, but steal from them and go out strong. So I picked a guy I thought you like.

"We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies, though passion may have strain, we must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic cords of memory will swell when again touched, assuredly that they will be, by the better angels of our nature."

THE END


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